"Likewise." She changed the subject and said, "You know, the security here is not as good as I thought it would be, considering what's on this island. If this was a nuclear facility, you'd see a lot more security."

"Yeah. The barrier security sucks, but maybe the internal security in the lab is better. And maybe, as Stevens claims, there's more here than meets the eye. Basically, though, I get the feeling that Tom and Judy could have waltzed out of here with whatever they wanted. I just hope they didn't want anything."

"Well, I think we're going to find out later today or maybe tomorrow that they did steal something, and we're going to be told what it is.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'll tell you later," she replied.

"Tell me over dinner tonight."

"I guess I have to get this over with."

"It really won't be that bad."

"I have a sixth sense for bad dates."

"I'm a good date. I've never pulled a gun on a date."

"Chivalry is not dead."

She turned and walked away. She stopped at the edge of the bluff and looked out over the water. The Sound was to the left and the Atlantic to the right and, as with the Gut on the other side of the island, the wind and currents mixed it up here. Gulls seemed to stand still in midair and whitecaps collided, causing the sea to churn. She looked good standing there in the wind, blue skies, white clouds, gulls, sea and sun, and all that. I pictured her naked in that same pose.

Mr. Stevens returned from his phone call and said, "We can get back on the bus now."

We all walked along the road that skimmed the bluff. In a few minutes, we were back in the area of the ruined artillery fortifications.

I noticed that one of the steep rises on which the fortifications were built had recently eroded, exposing strata of fresh earth. The topmost stratum was organic compost, which is what you'd expect, and beneath that was white sand, which was also normal. But the next stratum was a reddish streak of what looked like rust, then more sand, then another line of rust red, just like on the beach. I said to Stevens, "Hey, nature calls. I'll be right back."

"Don't get lost," said Mr. Stevens, not altogether joking.

I went around the base of the hill, picked up a piece of deadwood, and began jabbing it into the vertical surface of the grassy slope. The black compost and grass fell away, and I could see the strata of white and red. I took a handful of the reddish brown soil and saw that it was actually clay mixed with sand and maybe some iron oxide. It looked very much like the stuff in and on Tom and Judy's running shoes. Interesting.

I put a handful of the soil in my pocket and turned around, only to see Stevens standing there watching me.

He said, "I think I mentioned the 'Never Leave' policy."

"I think you did."

"What did you put in your pocket?"

"My dick."

We stood staring at each other, then he finally said, "On this island, Detective Corey, I am the law. Not you, not Detective Penrose, not even Chief Maxwell, and not the two gentlemen with you." He fixed me with those icy eyes, then said, "May I see what you put in your pocket?"

"I can show it to you, but then I have to kill you." I smiled.

He thought a moment, running through his options, then came to the correct decision and said, "The bus is leaving."

I walked past him and he fell in behind me. I half expected a garrote around my neck, a blow to the head, a shiv in my spine-but Paul Stevens was smoother than that. He'd probably offer me a cup of coffee later, laced with anthrax.

We boarded the bus and off we went.

We'd all taken our former seats, and Stevens remained standing. The bus headed west, back toward the area of the ferry dock and the main lab. A pickup truck with two men in blue uniforms carrying rifles passed us going the opposite way.

All in all, I'd learned more than I thought I would, seen more than I'd expected, and heard enough to make me curiouser and curiouser. I was convinced that the answer to why Tom and Judy Gordon had been killed was on this island. And, as I said, when I knew why, I would ultimately know who.

George Foster, who had been mostly silent up to now, asked Stevens, "You're quite sure the Gordons left in their own boat at noon yesterday?"

"Absolutely. According to the logbook, they had worked in the biocontainment section in the morning, signed out, showered, and gotten on a bus like this which took them to the ferry dock. They were seen by at least two of my men getting into their boat, the Spirochete, and heading out into Plum Gut."

Foster asked, "Did anyone in the helicopter or the patrol boat see them once they were out in the Gut?"

Stevens shook his head. "No. I asked."

Beth queried, "Is there anywhere along this shoreline where a boat can be hidden?"

"Absolutely not. There are no deep coves, no inlets, on Plum. It's a straight beach, except for the one man-made cove where the ferry comes in."

I asked, "If your patrol boat had seen the Gordons' boat anchored anywhere near the island, would your people have chased them off?"

"No. The Gordons, in fact, did sometimes anchor and fish or swim off the coast of Plum. They were well known to the patrols."

I didn't know the Gordons were such avid fishermen. I asked, "Were they ever seen by your people anchored near the beach after dark-late at night?"

Stevens thought a moment, then replied, "Only once that came to my attention." He added, "Two of my men in the patrol boat mentioned that the Gordons' boat was anchored close to the south beach one night in July, about midnight. My men noticed the boat was empty, and they shined their spotlights over the beach. The Gordons were on the beach…" He cleared his throat in a way that suggested what the Gordons were doing on the beach. Mr. Stevens said, "The patrol boat left them in peace."

I thought about this a moment. Tom and Judy struck me as the sort of couple who'd make love anywhere, so doing it on a deserted beach at night was not unusual. Doing it on Plum Island beach, however, raised both my eyebrows and a few questions. Oddly, I'd once had a sort of reverie about making love to Judy on a wave-washed beach. Maybe more than once. Every time I had this thought, I slapped myself in the face. Naughty, naughty, piggy, piggy

The bus went past the ferry dock, then swung north, stopping in an oval-shaped driveway in front of the main research facility.

The curved front of the new two-story art deco-style building was made of some sort of pink and brown block. A big sign rising from the lawn said, "Department of Agriculture," and there was another flagpole with the flag at half-mast.

We all got out of the bus, and Paul Stevens said, "I hope you enjoyed your tour of Plum Island and that you got a good feel for our security arrangements."

I asked, "What security?"

Mr. Stevens looked hard at me and said, "Everyone who works here is well aware of the potential for disaster. We're all security-conscious, and we're all dedicated to the job and to the highest standards of safety that exist in this field. But you know what? Shit happens."

This profanity and flippancy from Mr. Ramrod Straight sort of surprised everyone. I said, "Right. But did it happen yesterday?"

"We'll know soon enough." He looked at his watch and said, "All right, we can go inside now. Follow me."